


Jacob Frye x Reader: Gain and Loss

by Oreana



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Loss, Love, Miscarriage, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oreana/pseuds/Oreana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader is part of the newly forming Rooks and gets to know Jacob Frye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jacob Frye x Reader: Gain and Loss

**Author's Note:**

> {IMPORTANT: I am afraid that no more Jacob Frye/Assassin's Creed works will come from me having been harassed out of the fandom for nearly half a year. I've lost my drive and passion for it entirely, but I appreciate the support and love that has come from some of my readers. <3 Thank you all for the fun times, but because of the death threats and other absurd comments thrown my way via Tumblr, I'd rather forget about this fandom entirely. Do not expect anymore updates of these stories.}
> 
> This is a very old story--first reader insert of Jacob Frye I ever did. It only has one part, and I don't really have an idea to do another.

Never would you think to enjoy the idea of that rowdy Jacob Frye being the leader of the Blighters within Lambeth. Now, renamed The Rooks, you took up the colors with what pride and eagerness you could manage. A new location was one thing when you were asked to help out in missions for the Templars, but now…you were aiding an assassin and following new orders.

At first, you focused on and worried over what this new transition would bring. Would you be swapping one ruthless leader for another, or would something actually be surprisingly different? But then…old friends became new foes, and with the ranks torn apart, you knew you’d find yourself at the end of someone’s blade if you dared to travel the streets alone. You stayed close to other Blighters who had turned Rooks when walking about the streets, especially late at night, but you should have known that the odds would less likely be in your group’s favor when it came to ‘payback’ for betrayal.

Ambushed out of nowhere, it all happened much too fast for you to even remember clearly how it even started. A strong enough blow to the back of your head was enough to send you to the wet cobblestone streets of London without much resistance. The sounds were blurred as was your sight, but in your sorry state, you were able to hear screams and the sound of metal clashing in the fogginess of your senses. The smell was horrible…the unwelcoming scent of London was one thing, but the recognizable smell of copper made your stomach twist and turn as you knew the blood had to be from your fellow comrades.

Soon there was silence, and for a moment, you assumed you were lucky…that you were spared or presumed dead by the attackers, but that reprieve came to a quick halt when you felt someone grab you harshly by the collar of your shirt and turned you to look at them. Your senses struggling to get back to full force so you could defend yourself, you recognized the woman’s face from back when you both entered the Blighters. Your sight was regained ever so slightly to at see your attacker. Arms and legs still feeling as heavy as lead, you opened your mouth to say something, but the idea of begging to be spared was beyond you so you stayed your voice.

Her name was not something you could remember, but you remembered that nasty scar on her left cheek quite vividly. The woman’s eyes were the deepest blue you had ever seen, and the coldest as well—nothing had changed there, apparently. Staring into them now, she looked as though this was some sort of unspoken revenge she had been waiting to do for a long time. Her ruby red lips curled into an ominous grin as she spoke. “Oh, I am going to enjoy this—!”

Blood sprayed forth from her mouth without warning, marring your face, as her hold on you loosened and her strength began to wane. She had been attacked from behind, and as she fell to her knees—lowering you with her—you were able to see who had attacked her.

Jacob Frye.

You breathed a sigh of relief upon the cold, winter air. Never would you think to be so happy to see an assassin before. If anything, you thought you’d be the one taking that hidden blade in the back. Enough energy was there to sustain you upon your knees for a moment, but you were still dizzy from the surprised blow earlier. Opening your mouth to speak your thanks, you could only hope he heard it right before you collapsed once more.

 

 

It seemed the new gang leader had paid your way for staying within the hospital for awhile after that event. Sadly, he wasn’t there to really talk to when you came around, but you expected no less given his profession. However, this didn’t stop you from desiring to have a word with him—to thank him for saving your life. While you knew you could check every location in London, the easiest was to wait for the Rooks’ train to hit the train station and just catch him there. You heard through the streets, when he wasn’t out causing mayhem, he was usually on the train scoping out his next target.

You knew your body was still a bit of a mess, but you had the energy to get to the train station to board the train at least and do everything as planned. Sadly, the Rooks’ leader was not there, and you found yourself having to sit down for a moment to ease off the pain from your ill recovered body. Yes, you left the hospital too soon, but…you were never a fan of those to begin with, and you felt you were fine for this little errand.

Regardless of what bill of health you gave yourself, your body was still healing and you had apparently fell asleep there in one of the chairs while waiting for Mr. Frye to return to the train. The traumatic event beforehand must have been enough to make you sensitive to the idea of being touched, it seemed, as that was all it took for you to jerk your head upwards when someone on the steam train did such a thing to check on you.

Firm hands to your shoulders to steady you as you panicked, your eyes met with Jacob’s once more as he tried to settle you. “Hey now! What do you think you’re doing here?”

He didn’t sound offended or anything of the sort—more concerned. “Am I…not allowed to be here?” you asked, as you weren’t certain of what he meant.

The cocky assassin scoffed, shaking his head at your choice of words. “You know what I mean,” he assured with a raise of his brows. “Why are you not at the hospital? That was one bloody mess you got yourself into.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. It wasn’t like you went looking for it. If anything, it was a bad set of circumstances that your group got plucked that night.

Jacob looked away when you didn’t respond before standing upright with his hand to his mouth as if to ponder on what to say. “You were kicked hard in the ribs too, ya know?”

Your eyes slightly widened at that bit of news, but it would explain the constant pain in your sides that took great pleasure in rocketing through your body.

“Don’t remember that, eh?” Jacob asked, pacing in the small bit of space he had to do so. “What I am getting at is—.”

“Thank you,” you quickly interrupted, as you weren’t sure where the whole conversation would go, but you wanted to express your gratitude all the same. It was enough to catch the assassin off guard, it seems, as he stared at you with confusion—like those words were something new to him. “Thank you for saving my life…”

He was still staring at you, and the sight of those hazel eyes were enough to make you fidget nervously as they made your heart pound. Jacob Frye was as handsome as he was deadly, and those two ingredients together made you nervous in many ways to be around him. “It’s not much of a life I live, but it is nice to see that it is of value to someone,” you continued.

“I would be the wrong one to talk about life and the value of it, love,” Jacob corrected, as if to deter the idea of a meaningful conversation.

You shrugged your shoulders. It was obvious he was a difficult lad to speak with, and you weren’t one to waste someone’s time. “Well, I came and did what I said I was going to do,” you mostly said to yourself, but it was loud enough for Jacob to hear. Pushing yourself to your feet, you were quickly stopped by Jacob’s index finger jabbing upon your chest to get you to roughly sit back down.

“You’re staying here to heal,” he insisted in a rather demanding tone. While it was demanding and, almost, intimidating, it was in a good and welcome way. You could tell he meant well in his actions, and was mostly focused on you and your well being. “If I can topple you over with just my finger, you would be dead within a few seconds of walking off of this train.”

Insulting your strength, however, was another thing completely. You had lived on the streets long enough to know how to survive even with a few injuries. It was no big deal. “I was ill prepared for that attack,” you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at the leader. “Just as I was ill prepared for your finger to jab me.”

“Oh, belt up, will you?” Jacob insisted teasingly with a shake of his head. With you quiet and wondering why he demanded your silence, you watched as he gestured to the next cart over. “Come on. There’s a sofa in there you can rest on till you’re feeling better.”

You stayed put. The idea of someone caring about you so intently that was a leader and not just a fellow gang member was new to you. Was he going to scold you later, or was what he was doing earlier the extent of his fairness?

“Come on,” he said again, offering his hand this time.

Cocking your brow at him, you took his hand slowly—hesitantly—before being aided to your wobbly legs. “You’re…an odd man, Mr. Frye,” you boldly stated as you walked beside him to the next train cart.

“You’d get along well with my sister,” Jacob admitted with a teasing smile. “She thinks about the—.” He paused in his words as he felt you slip. The grip of the assassin was firm upon your shoulder where he held you; his other hand moved quickly to your hip as you were unable to stand as properly much longer as you had hoped you’d be able to. Seems he was being mindful of your injuries. “Whoa, whoa!” he whispered, moving your left arm behind his neck while trying to get you back on your feet.

You felt a bit embarrassed when you realized you nearly passed out from your wounds. Right in front of The Rooks’ leader. Good one, self—especially after you were boasting your strength earlier. “S-Sorry about that,” you said in a woozy tone. Admittedly, the room was spinning, and if you could lie down, that would be the closest to heaven you’d been in a long while.

Soon your prayers would be answered as the velvety covering of the sofa would grace your battered and bruised body with Jacob Frye’s aid. “Not sure why you’re apologizing to me,” he chuckled close to your ear. “Just stay put this time or I’ll tie you down.”

 

 

It was an order you were happy to follow. For weeks you stayed on the train, content to wake up on that same sofa to just see Evie and Jacob Frye both walk in and out to obtain their next targets. Evie seemed to spend less time there compared to Jacob, but it was a set of circumstances that you would welcome all the same as you found yourself interested in Jacob Frye.

At first, you rarely interacted with him. You were too nervous to. But then you found him at times sitting next to where you would often rest your head. It made you anxious as your heartbeat was loud and no doubt the assassin could easily hear that. Well, if he did, he at least didn’t say anything, so there was that at least. That day, of all days, he was sitting about the train a lot longer than usual, and the silence between you both was almost suffocating. You felt you had to say something, or you could very well drown from the anticipation.

“Not going out tonight are you, Mr. Frye?” you asked timidly, hoping that it didn’t come across as offensive by any means.

“Mm?” you heard him hum above you. “No, I don’t fancy doing so tonight.” The weight of the sofa shifted as he leaned forwards on his knees. “Besides, I’ve caused enough chaos for one day.”

You could only wonder how the Templars and Blighters felt with Evie and Jacob causing so much trouble as of late. It was times like this you were glad to be on the opposite end of things.

“And what about you?” Jacob asked, his outer thigh nudging you gently upon the head. “Are you well enough to know your ups from your downs?”

“I walk around when you’re not here, Mr. Frye. I am sure I can leave soon, if that is your desire.”

As you lie there with your eyes facing the wall, you found the assassin moving into your line of sight from where you were resting. You were hoping your hair was hiding the blush that started to burn upon your cheeks, but that curtain of hope was a bit dashed as he moved your hair out of the way to get a better look at you. “I never did quite catch your name,” Jacob mentioned.

You quickly averted his gaze. Him touching you was distracting enough. “(Y/N),” you respond rather quickly. “Why would that interest a bloke like you?”

Jacob laughed. Perhaps he saw how embarrassed you were, or he just found your irritated tone humorous. “Calm down, (Y/N). I was merely curious.” Here, he reclined back, it seemed, and left you alone.

“I was asking, because I thought I was just one of your many Rooks,” you explained a bit further…interested as to what his response would be.

He was quiet. Perhaps you caught him off guard, or maybe you said something you shouldn’t have. The longer the silence continued, the more your worry arose. “It’s not that I plan on learning everyone’s name, love,” he explained finally. “However, I don’t see everyone as just pawns in a deadly game I play. If I felt that way, well…you wouldn’t be here, would you now?”

This was a morbid truth. It was once again a reason you were thankful for his help. “Thank you for that.”

“You already thanked me before,” he reminded you.

“Is there harm in thanking again?” you questioned honestly.

Jacob scoffed teasingly as he fixed his positioning on the sofa a bit more. “No—no, there’s not.”

 

 

And it seemed that was the catalyst for your friendship with the elusive Mr. Frye to begin. After you had left the train, it seemed that Jacob had a way of ‘finding you’ without meaning to. You thought it was by circumstance that he happened upon you now and again, but after a few months, he started making it a bit more obvious. When you moved your housing and patrolling to Whitechapel down the line, a note with his signature was waiting for you upon waking up in the abandoned housing you took comfort in. The notes were simple at first—simple talks about the weather and how his quest to liberate London was going, but then they got a bit more straightforward… straightforward in ways you were too red in the face and weak in the knees to share to the other female Rooks.

You ended up buying a small keepsake box to keep most of the letters together under lock and key. Besides, should a rainy day call for them, you could shuffle through them and read should the time call for it. They were more entertaining than any book you could find, that was for sure.

One night, just as you were putting away the latest letter that Jacob had sent your way, a shadow cast over the floorboards and sent a quick chill down your spine as you were trying to be alert on any Blighter attacks. A quick turn, a gasp, and a clutch of your rapidly beating heart, you were relieved to see it was only Jacob this time. “Jacob!” you shouted by accident before taking a breath of relief.

“Get my letter?” Jacob asked as he stood hovering like a hawk in the window. His tone would suggest he found humor in the idea that he startled you so.

“Yes, you daft berk!” you insulted playfully, motioning for him to come inside since he was letting the cold air in to an already impossible to keep warm building.

Jacob wasted no time in doing so. Hopping upon the wooden, creaky floorboards, he shut the window behind him before blowing into his hands with a curious look in his eyes. “How do you stand it out here?”

“You learn to after many years on the streets,” you reminded the assassin who had apparently lived a much better life. “Being in this old, rotted building is much better than putting up a spot out in the alleyways. Rotted boards are better than trash.” You were being honest. You never would forget those days you were basically rolling around in garbage just trying to stay warm or dry from the rain.

The candlelight was dim, but it illuminated his mischievous smile all the same. It was the most welcome thing that chilly evening. Sitting down on the musty, old sheets of the bed you slept on, you gave him a curious look as you remembered what was in that letter for the evening.

“So? Why did you desire me to be alone tonight?” you inquired curiously. In his letter he had implied he wanted you alone about the stroke of ten that evening, so you did your best to comply since you shared the housing with other Rooks from time to time.

You thought you’d get a verbal response of some sort, but you were met with only action. His embrace was the first thing you were met with, and it was a gentle, caring and loving hold…a hold that you rarely felt from him personally, but in his words, you could tell he was being loving and anxious to be more open and honest with you. Honestly: this was the weakest you’d ever seen him. His guard was down, and it easily showed. You were used to this aggressive killer who easily killed men and women alike for standing in his way. He had shot defenseless animals just to get to his enemies when minding the streets on carriages and now he was holding you in a tender manner so opposite to the man you saw on the streets of London. Your mind went blank when you felt his warm breath caress your lips as he moved in to kiss you without much warning.

You tensed. Playful letters were one thing, but to actually have the taste of his breath on your lips and the feel of his beard teasing your skin was another. “J-Jacob…?” you stammered once you managed to pull yourself free just inches from his face. “A-Are you sure this is…wise?”

He snickered, reaching up to remove his top hat and put it off to the side. “I am sure, but you sound uncertain.”

How would you even phrase this? Words were running together and clashing at such a high rate in your mind that it almost made you want to faint. “I’ve just…you feel less…like yourself like this,” you admitted in concern. “You feel…weaker?”

He laughed—loudly, you might add. “You think love is a weakness, do you?”

“I didn’t say that,” you defended. “I just…have never seen you with your defenses so low. It feels so…odd to me.”

The leather of his gloved hand caressed your chin as he prompted you to look at him. “If you think this is me at my weakest, then you don’t know me,” he said honestly, in an almost frightening tone. He grinned shortly after as if to lighten the mood. “When I care for someone, they see another side of me. The side you saw in those letters I sent you. That is me here—without the curtain of the killer assassin clouding your view. You are not my weakness,” he whispered between you both as he held your upper arms tightly. “You are my strength.”

Resisting the urge to cry, you fell into his arms a bit easily after that. His warmth was welcoming as was the scent of London upon his attire. It was odd that such a smell would be welcoming when it was always around you in vile attempts to drown you. Your fingers clutching his leather coat, you found that urge to resist crying was all but evaporating as icy, cold tears stung your cheeks. A life in a sea of millions, and he made it seem like you were the most special of them all.

Jacob moved slightly so he could aid you in wiping away your tears. It was the first time he hadn’t been sarcastic or said some stupid joke just to get a laugh out of you. It was refreshing. Moving closer to him once more, you were the one to initiate the kiss this time, and you let the evening fall where it may.

 

The months that passed were days and nights spent with the roguish Jacob Frye when able. Whenever gang wars would happen, you found yourself on the field mostly alone with other Rooks unless Jacob just happened to be there. As of late, he had been tailing a few Templar leads, so you saw him a bit less. Oddly enough, him not there as often made you feel a bit lonely at times and not yourself. You were so used to working on your own, and now…it seemed he changed all of that.

Taking your mind off of the inner pain, you went to the streets and fought off Blighters as any other form of pain would be more welcome than what was aching your heart. But…that was not the only thing you wanted to distract your mind from…

While keeping it a secret, you had found out not too long ago that you were pregnant. Jacob was the only man you had been with, and now you had this bit of news to give him when he already had so much on his plate. It wasn’t the brightest strategy, but you hoped ignoring it would make it go away.

“How am I going to tell him…” you whispered to yourself, as you were already 3 months along and doing your best to hide it from him. Your back against one of the many buildings of London as you took refuge from the main streets, you sighed with a roll of your eyes knowing it had to be done eventually.

Just as you were about to get up and do so, you felt pain rocket through your legs—nearly crippling you instantly. Hissing in dismay, you found your hand on your stomach as you struggled to catch your breath. “D-Dammit…! What is wrong…with me…!”

There were other Rooks nearby who saw you in pain and were quick to aid. Their worried words weren’t helpful as you found the pain escalating. The tearing sensation brought you to your knees with a loud cry as you felt something damp between your legs. That foreboding, coppery smell…it was there again, and you knew that this wasn’t good given your condition.

“You’re bleeding!” gasped one of the women as she struggled to keep you upright.

Hearing that, you were scared to look. How bad was it? Did you want to know? Swallowing harshly, you turned to look down at your Rook outfit to notice that your pants had stained about your clothes quite quickly making them realize that you were possibly injured, but you…you knew this wasn’t good regardless of it being your first pregnancy.

“I’ll get Mr. Frye!” one of the men insisted, turning away from the scene to do so.

“N-NO!” you almost screamed as another horrible, tearing contraction ripped at your body. Collapsing to your elbows, you trembled with a grit of your teeth. You couldn’t let him see you like this…he couldn’t know you were this careless.

But you were weak—in pain—and your eyes were starting to close from the agonizing sensation that was beating down on you. Just as you were trying to pathetically crawl after the fellow Rook, you saw it then—the one person you didn’t want to see.

Jacob Frye had hurried into the backyard you and the others were standing within, and that horrified look on his face was enough to make you realize it was all on the surface now. There would be no escaping it no matter how this would turn out.

You heard him yelling your name, but your vision and hearing were both becoming unstable, and everything was starting to fade in and out of existence. His hands grabbing at your sides and aiding you to your feet, he found eventually that wasn’t going to work and eagerly switched to carrying you bridal style while running to the nearest carriage he could obtain. His harsh movements felt as though they were causing more harm than good.

Pain…screaming…the swaying of the carriage as it frantically made for its destination… Jacob’s voice over and over again begging for you to stay conscious, but the loss of blood would get the better of you, and on the way to the doctor’s, you passed out.

 

 

It was the one thing you thought wouldn’t happen to you.

Miscarriage.

Hearing such an awful word was enough to send you into a state of hysteria. You were weak, but your lungs were strong enough to scream your dismay at waking to such news. The defeated look on Jacob’s face was equally oppressive…like you had failed a major mission he had asked of you…

He did his best to calm you, but you refused. All you had to do was talk to him. That was all you had to do, and this could have been avoided. Your arm pricked with a sedative, would be what insisted your coming down from unspeakable sorrow. At least for now.

When you were released from the hospital, you went into seclusion. You left Whitechapel and hid within Westminster to avoid being found by Jacob Frye. You needed to be alone…you just didn’t have the courage to face him. You felt like such a failure.

Drinking…whatever you could manage to find or steal from local pubs was what kept your depressive thoughts at bay sometimes. But, being alone with your thoughts and liquor was probably not the best prescription you could give yourself.

In the end, it didn’t matter, for—whether you liked it or not—Jacob’s shadow was soon casting itself over where you laid battered and broken from such an event. You knew it was him. He would be the only idiot in all of London to come searching for you and find you.

“What do you want, Jacob…?” you managed to ask, looking down between your legs to avoid his gaze while twiddling a half empty beer bottle between your fingers against the floor.

His boots did the talking, as he moved across the flooring to join you. Maybe he knew words wouldn’t help, because the first thing he did was reach over and urge you into his arms for a reassuring hug. You fought him weakly…drunkenly, really, but his strength won out, and you found yourself in his comfort.

The bottle spilled out on the floor as your grasp upon it loosened after such an action on Jacob’s part. You were in the comfort of his embrace, and it was there you took solace in the idea of crying. ‘I’m sorry’ was the only thing that could escape your mouth for a time. He shushed you intently, but you knew you had to for how foolish you had been.

“I should…I should have told you…” you whimpered, biting at your lower lip to try and stop the crying, as you were so tired of doing it.

He gently pulled you back to try and get you to look at him. When you avoided his gaze for long enough, he made you look at him. That look again…that look of defeat… sorrow…something you never saw in him before. “We’ll get through this together…okay?” he whispered. “Now, stop running from me.” That almost sounded like an order more than a plea. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

Sniffling back your sorrow best you could, you nodded slowly. You knew this meant going from being in isolation to being almost in front of everyone with your pain there on your shoulder; but, Jacob Frye was willing to aid you, and admittedly, being alone prior was not that great to begin with.


End file.
